


The World Ahead

by thisisprobablyabadidea



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Character Study, Childhood, Gen, Growing Up, No Dialogue, Post-War of the Ring, Return of the King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisprobablyabadidea/pseuds/thisisprobablyabadidea
Summary: Eowyn had ever had a spirit for adventure
Kudos: 3





	The World Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little character study about one of my favourite female characters. Sparked from the quote exchange: "what do you fear, my lady" "a cage".  
> The title, of course, from Bilbo's walking song.  
> Enjoy! x

Eowyn had ever had a spirit for adventure. As a girl she had looked out over green pastures to where the horizon fell away, dreaming about worlds far beyond what she knew. She had played with her brother’s toy horses, carved from wood by dwarven craftsmen from half a world away and traded across the map so that a little girl might hold them in her hands and wish herself small and wooden too, so that she might travel far and wide, and see such sights as the charming wooden horses must have seen.

As a maiden she had gone often on merry walks through the lands of Rohan, though never allowed to stray too far from the palace of her uncle, and always accompanied by a guard or two. She delighted in the feeling of the earth beneath her feet, the air fresh and crisp about her face, the sight of the golden sun dipping between the trees from where she would stand at the top of a great hill; this was the best place to see the wide world around her, and where she would often pause to close her eyes and breathe deeply, imagining that she stood not merely a half-thousand yards from her home, but on some distant mountain top, where the wind would whip most fiercely and blow her fine hair into her face, where the ground beneath her feet would be not soft grass but snow, and where the air would be clean and strong and smell nothing of home. How often her heart did ache! How often did she long to mount a trusty steed and fly across the plains to lands unknown, never once glancing behind her.

Whenever the merchants came to town, Eowyn would race down to the marketplace, sitting long with the travellers and eagerly pressing them for details about their wares and travels, drawing a smile from even the most reticent merchant as she would put forth her enquiries with round and inquisitive eyes for as long as the sun hung in the sky. She would ask about Dwarves and Elves, about the masters of craft who had made the delicate toys and utensils that sat in the merchants’ carts, about the scrolls and heavy books written in unfamiliar scripts, about the lands from whence they came and the peoples who lived there. As a child and a young woman she was an avid reader, devouring the many books that all the scholars of Edoras had to offer, hungrily absorbing the tales of battle, adventure, and love. She would read heavy tomes of history as though they were the fluffy books of romance that she likewise enjoyed.

One memorable visit from Eowyn’s favourite merchant (a tall man with greying hair and a twinkle in his eye who never failed to bring some small treat that he had saved just for her) brought to her the book that would fast become a favourite. It was a small thing, bound in leather of a deep and luxurious mahogany hue, embossed with a title in golden print. It was a carefully curated guide to Elvish grammar and speech, with a section that explained the writing system of Tengwar and encouraged the practice thereof. Eowyn spent hours dedicated to the study of the book and the languages within, practising the Sindarin to the best of her ability and carefully forming the letters in her own shaky hand. With every word she learnt she would solidify in her heart the desire to one day speak it aloud in a country that looked wholly different to the land she knew.

As she grew, she found expectations new and altogether unwelcomed placed upon her. She found that she no longer had such freedoms as once she did, to spend whole days enraptured by tales of old or ancient tongues. She found that it was now expected that she relinquish her childish spirit for adventure, take up more sensible hobbies and learn not of the intricacies of dwarven metalwork, nor of the traditional dances of elvish festivals, but of the duties of a woman of the kingdom of Rohan; she would learn to weave and sew, of childcare and how to make a home for someone else, someone who would be free to ride out beyond the borders and fight to protect them but would still have a home to which to return. Soon did she feel stifled and caught, like a bird who once was small and thought the world boundless, but soon grew and discovered that all she knew was enclosed within metal bars that suddenly felt far too small.

Never was it in Eowyn’s spirit to enjoy the simple tasks of domestic life, and never was it in her heart to abandon those she cared for in defence of her own safety. So it was that she, barely older than a maiden, rode to battle with a new friend beside her and her brother ahead of her, unwilling and unable to be left behind. So it was that she slew the Witchking of Angmar, her heart pounding a fierce rhythm in her chest and blood rushing in her ears. So it was that she was made a heroine, though she felt the title befit her ill. What she gained from the victory was worth more to her than any title or praise that could ever be bestowed. Finally was the assent of her uncle given, that she might travel beyond the borders of the kingdom and into lands unknown; finally had she proved to him that she was a woman of strength and courage, could handle a sword and any foe that dared challenge her.

Months after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, after her wounds had healed and her thirst for adventure renewed, Eowyn found herself upon a mottled steed, her packs hanging from the saddle, cloak fastened around her shoulders. The wind whipped through her hair as she thundered over the grassy plains, chasing the horizon and the golden sun that dipped beneath the trees and beckoned to her with its rosy fingers from behind the great hills. Tears came to her eyes and she laughed aloud, a sound as golden as the rising sun to any who heard it. Off she rode, to lands unknown and worlds unseen.


End file.
